It is too warm, I cannot sleep.
Where now is the kiss of mercy
to cool the brow of this heavy night?
In memory, in consequence,
in the calming of souls redeemed;
in humility, in submission
in the hope of forgiveness cried loud,
Let me slip into still surcease,
let me fall into final repose,
let this beggar, at the last, know his relief.
All I want, all I really want,
all I ever truly wanted
was this poem to weep truer than me.
Thank you for reading Take me—a prayer. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
© 2013 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. This poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2013 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com.